you must go alone there
by nothing-chan
Summary: Armin was not weak, but wise, vines spilled from his mouth every time he spoke, dying the countryside he never got to see a vibrant, desirous green. A forest of jewels weighed heavily on his head and heart, making Eren wonder how even stayed alive with such responsibility and such emotion accumulating atop him. His shoulders always trembled beneath the velvet cape.
1. Chapter 1

The wood creaked underneath Eren's foot as he lurked into the freezing darkness of an empty home, much too commodious to harbor a person but much too familiar to serve as a temple. The light from simple torches ate away his face and left him slamming his toe into walls and blinking at rapid paces, head twitching around with each subtle sound that padded against his ear drums.

The darkness scared him, the omnipresent fear of the shadows trailing after him sending his mind to rubble and switching to his carnal workings, making him leap over unstable logs and slink into the biting corners, iced walls nipping against his skin. Mice scared him, the feel of the hair brushing the back of his neck scared him, the sound of his own feet ground into his heart and made it pump faster, impulsively flooding his body with heat and making the sweat drip into the icicle air.

He thought of Jean's smile as he had hit the ground, thorns piercing his skin and depressing into his veins. He was stooped over the wall and laughing, laughing as Eren pulled his arm to his face and watched pinpoint swamps of blood well up and overflow, streaking down his arm.

"You won't even make it in two feet, Jaeger," It was a challenge, and Eren pushed himself onto his knees, looking up at him with a fury burned deep inside. Jean just laughed, again, snorting and screeching as he dropped down to the ground and took off, sprinting back to the village with hopes of a candied glass of milk with a sprinkle of cinnamon to ease him to bed.

The plan was to wait surreptitiously behind a sweetly trimmed rose bush, nursing his wounds and flinching against the stabs of thorns until a door was opened and opportunity sang, leading him straight into the heart of his manhood proving dare.

He did not have to wait long, as soon a servant exited through the back door to care for the chickens confined in their cage, squabbling and hawking for attention. Eren swallowed the feeling of his heart in his throat and slipped into the monstrous beast, its carpet tongue welcoming his feet as he entered its body. The wooden walls spoke with each inhale and he did not spare any time to wipe his shoes clean at the door before imbedding himself into the world around.

A world of intricate and exotic rugs, gold sheened candelabras, an atmosphere of deluging wine glasses and tinkling crystal that chimed with each breeze that flowed swallowed him whole. The world was dark and exuberant and smelled of paper, the old paper Eren often saw at church, warping and molding in the leather bindings that wound it together. This life ebbed with the wind, made no resistance as the outside terrain howled or screeched into its ear. This was a life of carefree, disconnected reality, where even the slightest touch was loud and the dullest whisper was a roar.

Eren wondered absentmindedly that if you experienced this atmosphere, this overpowering fragrance of melancholy lilacs and deep cedar cellos, every day, if it would lose its beauty.

No laughter rang out; no light escaped the cracks in the vitiated wood, only feverish silence that made Eren's frame melt under the torch light. He took a step forward and mixed into the viscose existence before him, but still protruded as an outsider against the polished surroundings.

The calm presence did not seem to mind, accepted him with a sigh, letting him squeak through the area like a troublesome mouse, gripping the wall to feel the frostiness against his skin.

* * *

He had been wandering for fear inducing hours, trapped in the maze of fragrant perfume and repeated bowls of fruit. His head was light from the haze, limbs shaking as he turned another corner, corridor dark and devoid of the exit he dreamed of.

He tried to retrace his steps, to crawl his way back into the disgustingly fresh air that played outside, wanting to rid his nostrils of the intense stench that began to rot in them. It was ugly, the ground looked like clumps of blood that had dried and decayed, leaking onto his feet and staining his dirt covered shoes. It was so ugly, the perfection of the world beginning to sit like a weight on his shoulders and drag him down to stare at his knees as they knocked together. It was ugly.

If you experienced this atmosphere every day, the choke of sunflower seeds and assault of smoky chimneys, you would surely be rotten, disintegrating from the odor and the headache all around.

"Are you lost?"

A frame appeared before Eren, bright and gold and carrying a light that outshone the fire around. The candle illuminated him and made the curve of his nose and dip of his chin distort to grotesque umbrage that plagued his face.

The tips of his honey hair brushed his cheeks and Eren felt the fear inside of him jump to his mouth, puzzled if it was normal to be faced with such intense cowardice when confronted by a lionhearted prince.

"I saw you jump over the wall and come inside. I've been trying to find you, but you managed to get away from me, and I know this place by heart."

What was he to do? Fall to his knees; beg forgiveness, his pride and strongly locked legs would not allow this, even when faced with scoring, quartering, execution, death for his intrusion on the Prince's private estate.

Eren continued to watch the small boy as he checked behind himself, eyes luminescent in the massive, sweltering darkness.

"I won't get you in trouble if you do something for me."

* * *

Armin Arlert was the prince of a land spanning from the rigid mountains in the east to the seas splattered against the barren west. The land grew rich and fertilely, sprouting groves and forests and fields of flowers that decorated the heads of newly wed brides. Life was prosperous, for all estates, for all people, an endless summer leaving smiles upon the faces of the dying elderly and promises against the soft foreheads of freshly born babes.

His grandfather, the king, ruled solely and dutifully, hunched shoulders a sign of age but not feebleness. His prudency, his kindness, kept this kingdom alive, and he was adored, heralded by every citizen.

Armin possessed one third of his size and three times his grace, a walking flower that sprang from the ground and moved with the willow tree's branches. His softness, his beauty, the malleable tone of his voice made him questionable as a ruler, an easy target for jeers and cackles from the empty minded villager, bored of endless sunny days and the oblivion of good fortune.

Eren had heard these uttered before, how the prince was secretly a woman, how his well-kept hair rivaled that of a posh royal's dog, how he could not pick up a single stone without slicing his finger in two. Eren himself never said a word, concerned more with the pressing matters of a young, growing boy living in a flourishing town than the cynical words of politically charged adults.

But then again, he never did anything to stop it.

That was not necessarily bad, was it? Public relations were certainly not his job, and he did not know the Prince well enough to defend him, so why would it matter?

Still, Eren could not help but feel a twinge of shame upon seeing the Prince, in his fragile glory, fingernails scoured in dirt.

He was not weak, but delicate, like the small bugs that would sometimes crawl onto Eren's finger if he sat still for too long, or the lace his mother wore to around her throat to his grandmother's funeral. His words were not yielding, but rigid, full of vigor and understanding, teeth leaking intelligent sentences to the ground and dying the grass around him. The paleness of his wrist made him interesting, made Eren watch as he twisted a blade between his index and middle finger.

He liked to be outside, he had said, it was easier to breath, it smelt nice. Eren agreed and Armin looked over, blue eyes spirited with a passion Eren could never understand.

"I want you to tell me about the world."

The world?

What did Eren know about the world?

"I've never been outside this village," The brunette admitted, feeling somewhat more comfortable now that he was out of the deathly building known as the Prince's personal retreat and in the prosaicness of the nighttime air.

"I don't care; I want you to tell me what the village is like, and the forest, and the sunrise, if you've ever seen it."

"Of course I've seen the sunrise!" Eren scoffed, slamming the heels of his boots against the ground, shaking the trees as the leaves jostled from the wind, "I see it all the time, it's pink, like peaches."

"But the sun is orange?" Armin looked at Eren as if he did not believe him, uprooting grass stalks with his hands.

"Well, yeah, but the sunrise is pink…" Eren scanned the tiny ruler's face as he chewed his lip, "Haven't you ever seen it?"

"I'm not allowed to," He said this matter-of-factly, seeming to stare more at the blank area behind Eren's head than the confusion on his face, twisting a blade of grass until it bent and twirled in half.

"Listen, I want you to come visit me and tell me about the outside world, can you do that for me? Please?"

Eren stuttered, mortified by the prince who held residing authority but maintained the charm and manners of a faultlessly groomed maiden. He was asking Eren to return, despite the fact that he had defiled his macabre playhouse of toys and smiling servants just to prove himself to a loathsome child that stuck his tongue out and blew spit bubbles at Eren daily. The irony of the slightly uttered plea made Eren jut his chest out, sucking in the saccharine air.

"Well, yeah, I think I can, as long as we can talk outside."

* * *

_Hello._

_Here it is,,,,,, eremin prince au ohhmmmyg od. I've been wanting to d o this since forever? I love prince Armin my sweet sweet baby prince._

_The title comes from the song Alice by Hatsune Miku, which is basically my main muse for this adventure (other than pretty prince boys in big jeweled crowns.) I've listened to the music box version on repeat for an innumerable amount of days._

_There's no schedule for chapters honestly, since I just got back into school, but I can guarantee they will come quicker than my Chem homework lmao._

_SO please stay tuned, review, and hhave a nice fall :~)_


	2. Chapter 2

Armin liked to hear about everything, he liked to hear how the leaves looked on Sunday afternoons after it had rained or what the villagers wore to a midnight festival, hair flooded with ribbons and knotted into deranged, queer styles eliciting laughter that expanded in waves all around. He liked to watch the ground when Eren talked, sometimes allowing a simple, clean smile to flicker onto his face when he heard something truly outrageous, like how Eren's family all slept in one bed.

He wondered if it was crowded, and Eren said it was, but it kept them warm when snowflakes drifted through fissures in the wooden walls.

Nature fascinated him the most, Eren came to notice. He enjoyed hearing about the boys and the girls of the village, their families, when Eren had slapped a handful of freshly glopped mud onto Jean's face, but he would always redirect his interest back to the world of trees and writhing insects that crawled out of the ground at night.

"Do the animals come out of the forest?" "Have you ever seen a wolf?" "Does the moon really show up during the day?" "Do the fish nip your toes when you swim in the stream?" "Have you ever seen the ocean?"

"The ocean?" Eren contemplated, feeling the stickiness of liquid flood his fingers as the stem of a dandelion jerked apart, exuding photosynthesized blood in one clear pulse. He did not feel bad; he dropped the flower to the ground, grinding it to infinitesimal dust with the tip of his calloused finger.

"Of course not, anyone who goes to the ocean never comes back. There are monsters and mountains and sandstorms that could kill a giant!"

"Is that so."

Armin seemed dissatisfied with the answer, clenching his teeth tightly until the gentleness of his jaw turned rigid and threatening, slicing open the air with his wreathed cheekbones. He looked angry under the moonlight, and Eren made a soft, disapproving sound with his lips.

Armin was odd; he got upset over absurd things and was beguiled by the everyday occurrences that Eren had become accustomed to. He never hid his emotions, the stark nighttime they sat in played up his pallid face, the color of an untouched pail of milk still warm from the cow's nourishing insides. Armin was pretty and kind and soft at every crevice, tilting his head ever so slightly when he grinned. The Prince was cold and terrifying and centuries above, towering over Eren even as he sat shorter than him in the tall grass.

If he were just a normal boy, the son of a merchant, a scuffed farmhand, Eren often wondered if he would be as hideous as he was now, in a silken nightdress that sighed against the thoroughly baptized skin and supple stubbles of hair showering his body. The power and control of the Prince frightened him, his ability to hold the land in his thin fingers and crack it in half with one small word, bones and volumes of blood leaking from between his knuckles, simply if he felt like it. But the idea of Armin, a small, fragile, bird boy that laughed like the wispy clouds that sat too far up in the sky, did not scare him at all, it made him smile as the bread and meat in his stomach jumped and jumbled each time he trickled with joy.

And it struck young Eren, only 12 years old, that this boy did not belong in where he was born, and that was why he looked so sad, so out of place.

* * *

The only time Eren could visit him was during the night, when his servants thought him in bed and paid no attention when the door creaked slightly as the child Prince slipped into the crude outside air.

Eren did not mind, even though his arms began to scab over from waiting in the rose bushes secretly. He liked Armin; it was a rush of adrenaline to have him at his side, despite the times his bones began to shake at the thought of exactly what Armin was. The two complimented each other superlatively, a yin and yang that rested silently underneath the lonely oak tree.

He visited him every night from dusk until his eyes could no longer hold themselves open any longer, drifting shut as he sat upright, elbows locked to keep himself from tumbling over.

"Have you ever kissed a girl?"

Eren's eyelids ricocheted open, watching as the world in front of him burned into focus, sinking into his pupils as he felt the square shoulders of the Prince turn toward him.

His mother kissed him daily, did that count?

"O-Of course I have! More than once!"

He could not have Armin looking down on him; he would be stalwart in Armin's eyes, mature, impressive.

"I-I see…" Armin turned away, tracing a hand along the ancient trunk of their tree. Eren felt his face mold and reshape as he watched his hand pet slowly down the bark, dipping into every valley and encircling dents and holes with his filed nails. It almost felt warm.

"Would you show me how?"

He was not facing him, but Eren could hear the whisper of panic and torpor in Armin's voice, sinking into his quivering lips as he bit the skin off in flakes.

"Yeah, I guess…"

Armin turned to him, blue eyes, darker than the sky but not as deep as a well, wide.

What were his eyes the color of?

What was Eren supposed to do? He had never kissed a girl, or a boy, or anything for that matter. The mass in his throat gyrated as Armin slid closer, still smiling with gaiety and anticipation. He was older than Armin, he should know these things, but he felt completely abandoned and hopeless as the boy sat inches from his face.

"Ok, uh… Close your eyes."

Armin obeyed, wiggling on his jarred bones, letting his expression melt into one of utter sobriety, lips firm and pink as he licked them swiftly. Eren searched his face for any sign, any hint as to what he should do, feeling his mind go raw and his fingertips shake.

Was he just supposed… to do it?

Eren leant forward until his nose brushed the tip of Armin's upturned, royal one, tasting his breath, too pungent and honeyed. It smelt like the inside of his home, and Eren had the sudden urge to run away into the forest and dunk his head into a puddle of water until all trace of lavishness was swept clean from him.

But he stayed put, and took one last deep breath of the nauseous air before ramming his lips onto Armin's, eyes clenched shut, afraid to see what would happen.

They sat with their noses macerated together until they could breathe no longer, pulling away and gasping for air. Eren looked around to see if anything had changed, if the world had screamed at his deed, but the wind still mumbled and the tree sat still, untainted and apathetic.

"That's it?" Armin panted, rubbing his mouth with the back of his ethereal hand, dragging the skin harshly back and forth.

"Yeah, I guess…" Eren spit to the side, still drowning in the opulence that had saturated onto his body, feeling the same queasiness he had felt the first night he met the Prince return, clicking his heels together nervously.

They sat wordlessly as they caught their breath, quiet, so quiet the world around them seemed to stop existing, halting in time until they were ready to resume living. Armin pushed himself to his feet, nightgown blowing up and revealing his knurled knees, dusted in blond hair and grass stains.

"I'll go back inside now."

* * *

When he returned home, Eren swept himself into bed, making sure the abrasive sheets purged his lips clean of the throbbing taste that had begun to numb his mouth. He scrubbed off the sugared cakes and scented petals and replaced it with the smell of his mother, vivid, harsh lye and damp wool.

His parents were asleep, breathing slowly and upliftingly, the slight openness of his father's mouth letting out a faint whistle that repeated itself like a musical box. His sister was awake, frigid while he shivered in next to her, shielding his face in the white, pale like Armin.

Mikasa turned toward him, exotic features stretching into a wolf's heinous mask in the jesting shadows.

"You smell funny," She commented, and Eren rustled the covers theatrically as he turned on his side, away from her, covering his mouth with his palm and falling asleep choking off his breath.

* * *

_Hello._

_chAPTER TWO they did the gay kiss already but they're smelly kids so it doesn't count._

_Speaking of age, as of now in the story Eren is 12 and Armin is 9. Later in the story I was going to tell you Armin's age when Eren turns 18 so you could just figure out old he was in the earlier chapters by counting and stuff but I figured I'd just tell you now bc I'm a gay baby._

_ALSO yyy EAH I came across a wonderful piece of fanart that complimented this story very well but image thing threw it all out of proportion and I couldn't use it :((( SO IM SORRY TUMBLR USER sailinginstars it wouldn't let me use your picture but EVERYONE go check it out it's hella cute_

_sailinginstars dot tumblr dot com /post/59829119898/eremin-headcanon-that-armin-is-a -prince-and-eren_

_Lastly, one more chapter with them as children then I'm about 75% sure the main plot will get rollin yeeeeaaaaaaah [dons a pair of sunglasses and rides out on the bodies of future dead characters]_

_Please review, favorite, and enjoy your fall!_


	3. Chapter 3

"I want to thank you for talking to me," Armin tucked his chin into the valley of his neck, laughing like he understood some transcendental joke that Eren could not grasp underneath the thin veil of stars, "I wouldn't have told on you anyway, but I'm still glad you visit me."

Eren shrugged, tapping his heels to the rhythm of the cicadas that sung from above, "S'fine, I mean how many people get to say they met a prince?"

The Prince did not giggle at his brash words, but bit onto his lower lip, something he tended to do when he was engrossed in his thoughts. His head bobbed back and forth, flaxen hair swaying and releasing the same piquant smell.

Eren had become accustom to the smell; it was simply a part of Armin, more than his pastel soaked nightgowns or even the slight curve of his upper lip. It still scared him, made him frozen on feverish summer nights, trammeled the back of his throat until he was forced to spit out his stinging mouthful of vegetable stew and wipe his sopping eyes. However, it was only the aftertaste that burnt, the times when he played the role of a doctor's son, resilient and emphatic and covered in brush burns coated in dirt. When he was with Armin, he enjoyed the scent, it was softer and sweeter and much more tolerable when his voice accompanied it. He liked it, it reminded him of Armin, and he had come to like Armin, he liked him very much.

He often questioned if Armin knew how honeyed he smelt.

"I've never had a friend…" Armin was a doll with shattering porcelain skin in the decaying night air. His face fell off in flakes that blanketed the ground.

"My parents were killed by someone they considered a friend… I'm the only heir," Eren did not ask, everyone knew what fate had befallen the King's only son, slaughtered so gruesomely it was rumored to make even the Knight's legs tremor in their silver suits.

"I cannot be killed, if I am, a war will erupt between the nobles as to who will succeed my grandfather. I've never seen the mountains, or met anyone other than my servants, for the longest time I had never even been outside at night," Eren whistled between his teeth and the Prince shot him an exemplary look from the corner of his blue eyes, "All I ever wanted was to see the things you told me about."

Armin turned to him, smiling but somehow still wistful, miniature features crinkled celestially, matching the somber humidity of the air.

"Even if I never get to see them, I at least got to hear about it, so thank you, Eren."

* * *

Eren was sitting at an oak table, spinning a top idly, jolting his feet as his parents conversed in low, fermented voices. The Inn was an earthquake of muttered adult gossip, plates of steaming turkey legs and bubbling glasses of beer tipping as the blacksmith bellowed.

Mikasa watched as the top slumped onto its side for the umpteenth time, face unchanging and observing the way Eren sighed and set the toy back on its point. Eren pondered if Armin ever felt bored and disinterested, swinging his own legs at a velvet night table while the maids about him prattled harebrained tales that left him drooling out of the pout of his lip.

He figured a prince never got bored; he had the kingdom in his embrace, he would never be ignored.

Just as the top began to wobble, the sound of a wooden door hurling against the wall rose above the crowd. The noise was so vigorous, made with such intent; the entirety of the boisterous Inn paused to watch the doorway shiver.

He had silken hair that curled above his ears and a scented leather bag draped over his shoulder. The glint in his eyes and beat of his chest reeked determination, the silver bell twisted in his hands emitting small tinkling discord from his trembling fingers.

He was a messenger from the castle.

"The old King is dead! Long live King Armin Arlert!"

All that followed his announcement was a cacophony that tore apart the tender skin bulwarking Eren's eardrums. Some screamed in sorrow and mourning, tossing their hands about as tears clouded their eyes. Others knocked bowls of gelatinous butter off of the table, greased meat plummeting to the floor, syrupy liquid sloshing over their shoes as they yelled into the air.

Eren searched his own parents for a way to react, his mother's featherweight hand at her lips in shock, whispering to the concerned tightness of his father's jaw. Before he could begin to emulate the perturbed downturn of his eyes, a voice levitated over the rest, stentorian above all others from the depths of the wildly roaring crowd.

"Long live King Armin!"

His glass was raised in the air, half empty but catching the candlelight and spewing it back at Eren's face. The rest of the room followed suit, imitating his inebriated stance. Their voices sung out louder than any choir throughout the kingdom.

"Long live King Armin!"

* * *

That night, Eren sat behind the rose bush in stirred anticipation, bouncing on his heels as the lights in the gargantuan home remained burning. What would Armin say? Was he excited? He was King now, he owned it all, he transcended the world below and accepted his divine right, his Godly right, he was no longer Prince, but King.

The moon crawled through its routine, vibrating and watching Eren from the peak of the sky. No change came, no King appeared, no servant, no one exited the house before him, and he began to quiver. The screeches far off and howl in the breeze made his knees knock, and Eren looked about frantically. Where was Armin? He was late, much too late, and Eren was beginning to feel abandoned, outcast, vacant, without the saccharine smell that overwhelmed his senses to the point of elation every night.

He longed to see Armin, Armin gone, without the scent of him, left Eren blank, angry, pricking his finger on a thorn until it seeped blood down the film of grime blanketing his hand. He had been waiting so long his knees began to creak and ache, the blighting nip of the breeze turning his fingernails pale white. Where was the Prince?

The moon was far past the center of its star ornamented journey, frowning down in pity at the unkempt, putrid, verminous boy who thought he was good enough for a King.

By the time the sun began to chase its delectable rival away, Eren pushed himself to his feet, dejected and wobbling from the fire in his muscles. He was not crying, but scrunching his face soundly until it made it difficult to see the stone path ahead of him.

He was not worth anything anymore; he was nothing to a King. No longer the Prince's plaything, but an imbecilic creature that tilled the fields and sent fattening meat to the joyous nobles. The harsh reality of his importance made Eren kick a stone with a mighty force, sending it sailing through the air and scattering across the desolate ground.

It would be years until he came face to face with the King.

* * *

_Hello._

_Ooooooh last chapter with the little shotas. I love writing innocent children but I can't wait to dig my hands into ah, you know, characters with actual density and understanding of things ahahaha._

_Armin is such a precious sweet child my prince good gosh I love him so much. Eren is a crusty brat. But I love him too._

_So please review and get ready for [drum roll] teenagers._


	4. Chapter 4

Eren Jaeger was 18, he was able-bodied, flourishing, stretching up to the sky and grasping at it with his elongated and still growing fingers.

He was handsome, the rush of green that darted through his eyes made his mother croon, made his father grin, made him ruffle his hair and turn the other way when elderly women sang and pinched his bicep. The promise he carried on his shoulders was that of a young boy full of hope, the pride of his name, something that could not go wrong no matter what road he followed.

So he chose to become a Knight.

"Eren…" His mother muttered, woven basket of stiff laundry clutched against her chest, fresh from the rippling outdoors and into the confined, uncomfortable wood of their cramped home.

Knights did not marry, they did not carry on their family name, they did not have a profession or trade. They served the King, and then died, somewhere brumal and alone, next to the icing waves of the furious ocean. Only those with a death wish, or an asinine devotion to the monarchy, tossed their lives and names away for this fate.

So why Eren?

He was bored.

What more did he need to say? He had touched the sun when he had been with Armin, now he was left with the crumbs of a meager memory clouded by the tolling years adding atop him. He could have embellished his reasons, said he wished to see the towering mountains or mysterious sea just for himself, but he felt no need to lie, to explain himself. Eren aspired to see these things to rattle off their improbable descriptions to the blonde boy in a lace collar, stems of grass tucked behind his ear.

He longed to feel the strangling of a cloyed scent dripping down his throat and settling into the barren, acid walls of his stomach. Eren could no longer stand feeling so alone, without the constant reminder of his ignoble place, lowly face ground into the dirt by the omnipresent smell that chased him without fail. He did not like the pain of knowing he was nameless, but if this noxious fume kept him close to Armin, he felt it welcoming.

He had finally come to understand just what the stench was upon growing older and watching the hair of his father's head gray and dwindle. It was not a tangible perfume the Prince applied upon waking; painted skin coated in the scent of piano lessons and candied midnight fruit, but a reminder, a constant that was there to bulwark Eren away from the haloed boy.

'You reek, you are filthy, squalid, sullied, the sewer runs through your veins and pollutes the air the monarch breathes,' It said, 'I will keep you away, an arm's length from his dewy skin until you are aware of where you belong.'

But it had not anticipated Eren to enjoy the saccharine smell, most of all when he was next to the owner of the guard dog like cloud, so it had left him abandoned and without any reminder of his childhood experience. He was fastened to the scent of rising yeast and incense from the capacious church ever since Armin had left, and the blandness of his once glimmering village hit him harder than an iceball to his frozen face.

He needed out, he needed to drown himself in the clear ocean until he became a blade of sea grass that abated with the waves and sliced the breaking curls in two. Whether he landed in the intoxicating grasp of the familiar, noble stench or the untouched depths of a world unknown to him did not matter to him at this point, he wanted to be autonomous.

"I'm going as well," Mikasa's voice was thick with determination and tears began to bubble up in their mother's eyes.

* * *

"From this day forward, you are one. You are a single person dedicated to His Majesty, King Armin Arlert. You will obey all of his wishes, you will throw yourself into the enemy's sword to protect him, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

The corporal was as pasty as a full moon but inkier than charred coal. His black hair parted down the side to reveal a slightly sunburnt scalp, visible to every new recruit, his height dwarfing him to a child in their eyes.

But he was no child, blood stained his soul, and Eren could see that, the way his eyes darted in a beastly way as he observed every inch of their bristling skin. A refined brute, an educated wolf, the perfect warrior.

Corporal Rivaille's odd accent, half lulling, half slovenly, coated his words, "Some of you won't make it through training. Only those with exceptional abilities are worthy to be the guard dogs of the King. I expect to see more dropouts than those who make it to knighthood."

The stout man turned his back to the young crowd, framed by an expanse of forest that spanned miles and miles into the sky.

"That's all for today, I guess."

Eren glanced to the girl at his side, Mikasa unfazed by the less than enlivening speech. Her hair paralleled the corporal's, a slash of raven against the pale mass, angular face placid. They were not training?

"So, we aren't beginning our training today, sir?" Eren itched to begin fighting, the sooner they started, the sooner he embraced the distant ocean, and the sooner he served Armin.

Rivaille wheeled back around, a few elven steps away before he spoke to the recruit, "You think I'm going to wear you out on your first day?

"Just accept the corporal's kindness," A tall boy smiled into Eren's ear. "We have the first night off!"

Rivaille's response was the crack of a whip, "You're going to regret saying that tomorrow…" He riffled the gawky creature up and down, a form of a question.

"Marco Bodt, sir." Marco's face was grave, arms clenched tight behind his back.

"Right, Bodt, by the end of tomorrow you'll have trouble shitting. Then tell me how kind I am."

No one was sure whether to cackle or shiver, but by the time the corporal had disappeared, Eren was aware of Marco's emphatic gulping.

* * *

Eren's bunkmate was a boy with a shaved head and animated eyes; he swung himself onto the lower bunk like a tree monkey and grinned with slightly yellowed teeth. Connie came from the sewer depths of a city and felt the only thing he was good at was defending things, so he ran to the call of the Knight with open arms.

"We get to travel with the King, how cool is that?" He could not have been over 15.

The door to their stale cabin opened, and in rolled 3 conspicuous barrels, followed by corporal Rivaille, leaning against one of their unstable lids.

"Enjoy yourselves tonight, compliments of the King."

* * *

_I AM SO SORRY. My life has been insane I got a job and crazy stuff happened and I?! But it's ok now, updates should be regular-ish again. FORGIVE ME,_

_I'm so excited to write Rivaille as the confusing teacher. I imagined his accent would be a bit French, though very rough, but I obviously didn't say that because there aren't actual countries in this story._

_SO please review and have a good week!_


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